


Vignettes

by Meinleere



Category: Ratatouille (2007)
Genre: Drinking, Fluff, Illustrated, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Romance, congrats to this pairing for consuming my waking thoughts for the past three days, mostly a look at ego as a character realising hes in love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:34:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25802926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meinleere/pseuds/Meinleere
Summary: A series of moments in Antons life that changes it for the better, or worse
Relationships: Anton Ego/Auguste Gusteau
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	1. Sweet

**Author's Note:**

> Why didnt i think about the potential between these two sooner? if i had the energy i would glady create a 100k slowburn enemies to lovers plot with much higher stakes, but as for now heres the result of three days of brainstorming. Artwork featured in this was drawn by me! you can check me out @aardgar on instagram, or @beethian on tumblr!

At Half past ten the last of the workers were gone. Gusteau makes a remark but Anton is not listening, instead he swirls his glass slowly in a way that mimics his own swirling thoughts. He had no purpose to stay so late, nor to do so so frequently, and as he nods along to Gusteaus words, he wonders again why he even bothered for company.

“There is a place, although I believe they may be closed now,” Says Auguste “I have been wanting to try their cakes for some time”

Anton does not know the place. He was no fan of desserts; their sweetness always turned his stomach in ways few savory dishes could. He tended to avoid the likes of cake shops and bakeries unless they were particularly brave and approached him first. He could count the amount of reviews he had given for those sorts of places on one hand.

So it was with some surprise, two days later, he found himself making the journey regardless of his disdain for that sort of dish. The name was forgettable and the storefront humble, and while the slice was small, he knew Gusteau would like it.

Winter was drifting away like the clouds in an evening breeze; While the midafternoon sun was warm, there was the icy edge that permeated the air. Anton leaned back in his chair with a leg crossed over the other to read his newspaper as Gusteau enjoyed his cake. Some would call it a date, But Anton would simply assure them they were simply enjoying eachothers company. It was odd for the critic to know a chef so personally, as his picky palette often extended to his choice in company. Performative aloofness has its purpose in his world. No one would dare question a person’s judgement if they appeared to be above the rabble of the world, which was just how Anton liked it. So, those who were far to weak willed would remove themselves from his circle, it made things easier to manage.

Of course, it was after a lovely woman turned down his affections out of intimidation that he began to realize just how prominent this performance had become. He expressed regret over the dwindling pool of acquaintances that he could trust, followed by the thought that he hadn’t had someone he could call a friend in years. Something in him snapped quietly at that realization, and long repressed anxieties crawled out of their depths to torment him.

Gusteau was the one acquaintance he had known the longest. Culinary school is as important to a chef as it is to someone who judges their work, so their paths had crossed frequently. As they both climbed the ranks in their different yet intertwined occupations, there were chance meetings in the street, or at restaurants. Or, later as Gusteau’s finally became an established restaurant, an intentional tasting of his food. Not for the sake of criticism but simply out of support for someone Anton respected.

Despite it all Anton had never called Gusteau a friend. Not publicly at least. But here sitting on the balcony in comfortable silence, he stole a glace over the top of his newspaper to see Gusteau looking out over the city, deep in thought. Anton did not wish to disturb him, but in this personal, peaceful moment he was certain they were friends.

-

His back hurt between the shoulder blades, the dull ache pushing away all focus and drawing Anton away from the words he typed, He again stretched in a hopeless attempt at assuaging some of the pain, and groaned as his back protested the motion. He accepted, with some irritation, that a break from his work was required, or risk damaging himself further.

He drew his scarf tightly around his neck and stuffed his hands deep into his coat pockets as he made the journey home. The dull ache continued, and Anton cringed, perhaps the article will have to wait a little longer. As he walked, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the darkened windows of a café. The chairs were stacked away, and the display case empty. He recalled their coffee being decent, it was the sort of coffee you buy with someone you know, rather than a place to go for your own enjoyment. Anton was not entirely certain what he meant by that thought and continued on his way tossing the idea about in his mind.

Home was a modest place, in later years he will have a penthouse apartment with an adjoining office where he will do most of his work. But as for now, home was where he could eat and sleep, but he did little of the latter. His back hurt less now lying down, but his mind was alight with phrases for his next column. Frustration at his being at home, he needed something to help him relax, unless he wanted to march right back to his office and start working again.

The next morning brought relief, Anton stretched finally without pain, and set about preparing for the day, He shoved aside the guilt from his late night activities. best to forget rather than dwell on such thoughts, he said to himself as he scrubbed his hands. He left his scarf behind, his coat being enough protection from the coldness of the day.  
He unfortunately could not forget his actions. Every phrase was drawn out of him at an agonizingly slow pace. His sight swam as he again lost himself to the embarrassment.

No one knows, he assured himself, nothing wrong with a little indulgence. But no matter how hard he tried, he found it difficult to justify thinking of Gusteau in such a salacious way.

Eventually Lunch came and went with little notice from Anton, who finally worked himself into a rhythm, the click of the keys producing a hypnotizing melody that flowed with his words. Anton was only shaken from his focus by the sudden jolt of hunger induced nausea that revealed the biting hole in the pit of his stomach. His flow broken, Anton reached upwards, back cracking with the effort. It was sometime past two and he needed to eat.

And the last thing he needed was to run into Gusteau in the market. His face immediately flushed upon catching sight of the chef, but with a quick breath he composed himself to be his usual distant and cold self. Act natural, as one might say.

“Anton!” cried Gusteau, Anton tried to ignore the feeling in his chest at hearing his name on his lips, but the feeling mingled with his hunger and left him feeling doubly sick. He handed the Shopkeeper his cash and took his purchase of fresh strawberries. Even if sweet was not his preferred taste, fruit still had its appeal. And thinking about anything else other than last night was a welcomed relief.

They ate together at the very café Anton had passed only a day earlier. The coffee, he decided, was only as good as the company one bought it with. He and Gusteau shared a soft laugh over some soon-to-be irrelevant gossip, and Anton let himself savour the moment. It was strange to think that these meetings had become so frequent when usually they would go weeks without a single word, their respective jobs keeping them from having the usual social life. Gusteau mentioned a woman he was beginning to fall for, and Anton offered his usual small smile. Of course, he thought, it was only natural for this to happen, and If he did shed a tear in the privacy of his own home, no one could prove it.

\--

Three months passed with only a few letters between them, Anton had finally crushed his feelings into a fine powder and let them blow away on the wind. He had been productive since that day at the café, the pain had given way to focus. Several scathing articles had been published since, and he was desirous of new material. No restaurant had recently been on his radar, and so he had turned to the pettier work of professional bickering between critics. Opinions and thinly veiled insults began to litter his articles. It was almost a surprise the publishers did not ask for him to hold back, but he assumed they enjoyed watching this strange game.

The next time he saw Gusteau was strictly for business, an inspection of the restaurant, also known as a thinly veiled excuse to see someone now he considered a friend. It was with a strange familiarity that he found himself there late again, swirling his glass of wine, already a cup too far gone. Gusteau made for good company, he always did. Charming sure, energetic certainly, but also ambitious. He was deserving of his five stars most certainly, and Gusteau was truly proud of such an accomplishment. Anton always let him do the talking, it was entertaining to watch his grandiose motions while tipsy. Usually the man was a person of small gestures, of calculated movements designed to produce the best results. But here he waved his arms and laughed with his chest when describing the day. Anton took a long sip of his drink, and in his addled mind his thoughts slipped elsewhere. He was sober enough to slide back into reality before dipping further into that self indulgent pit, and only then did Anton realize Gusteau had gone silent.

“How is, ah my apologies for forgetting her name, you mentioned at our last rendezvous you had a certain woman on your mind?” Anton asked cautiously, his words softening as he watched Gusteaus face drop. Hm, perhaps he should have not asked.

“We had been seeing eachother for over a year now” He said slowly, and Anton cringed internally over having not known, “But with my busy schedule she decided to break my heart some weeks ago,” He sighed into his drink, and guilt settled in Antons chest. He should have known this, or at least asked after her sooner, instead of subjecting Gusteau to reflecting on something painful.

“But admittedly,” Said Gusteau in a voice that caused Anton to tilt his head, “I believe I was too quick to judge my feelings on her, perhaps I was simply too infatuated to see that it wasn’t meant to be”

“Sorry for that, Auguste,” Said Anton “I had heard such great things from you, I had assumed everything was well”

“Ah, its not your fault Anton,” Was Gusteaus reply, “I was more worried of you being jealous-“

Anton swallowed thickly, sudden thoughts of “how did you know about that” Churning through his head, three months of repressed thoughts welling up in his mind threatening to make him speak. But as he fought to keep his grip on his drunken state and prevent any further awkwardness, Gusteau continued to speak,

“-As I know you have not had much success with women.” His voice was light with laughter, a tease. Anton smirked, relaxing and adding “Or men” in his head, only realizing he had said it out loud as Gusteau shut his mouth with a snap. The room suddenly felt cold, and Anton felt very, very sober.

“Or men?” Said Gusteau in a far away voice. Anton wiped his palms on his pants, wanting to stand and leave but not wanting to incriminate himself further. He instead let the silence draw on as panic set in. Gusteau then laughed. and Anton was unsure of what to make of it. “I never would have thought you the type,-“

“If you intend to mock me consider this restaurant next for my review, and I will not leave it unscathed.” Hissed Anton, but his head was beginning to ache.

“no!, no” was Gusteaus cry “I only meant, well I assumed, my apologies but I am the same”

“The same?”

“Why choose,” Said Gusteau, “I never understood it myself”

Anton was silent, still, aside from a twitch in his jaw. And then all at once he let out a deep sigh that cracked into a strangled sob, and then shifted to some form of weird laughter. It was no sound he had made before, but this was no emotion he had felt before. He looked up and smiled at Gusteau, whos face was drawn in concern.

“Why choose indeed,” He breathed heavily “You’re the only person in the world that knows this about me, I am-“ he smiled a toothy grin that broke apart his cold persona “I am so glad to know you are the same”

They laughed, and Gusteau poured him another round. Later on Anton stumbled drunkenly home and slept in late, only to awaken with a great grin on his face. Yes, he thought, this is the new material I needed.

\--

“Are you feeling like anything in particular this evening?” Said Gusteau as he locked the door behind him. Anton shrugged, he had his opinions on most places published, for some he was neutral at best, and outright detested a few at worst. So instead he and Gusteau took to simply walking past restaurants and discussing which ones they would rather eat at. Eventually Gusteau slowed to a stop just before an alley that glowed brightly.

“There is an Italian place,” He said softly, “it’s no five stars but their meatballs are wonderful”

Anton nodded, finally hungry enough to accept anything for sustenance, and so they turned down the Alley. It was strung up with lights that reached from balcony to balcony, people mingled here and there outside the eateries that lined the street. Sweet and salty scents mingled in the air and Anton was taken aback at how romantic the whole affair was. Gusteau was silent, taking in the sights himself, the crowds were lively yet quiet and the lights above cast a warm glow on the whole affair, and if Anton was staring at Gusteau, no one noticed.

Anton took to crowdwatching as they passed, old emotions stirred up in his chest as he remembered revealing himself to Gusteau all those weeks ago. A soft smile ghosted across his face, leaving him feeling warm, when he felt a hand brush his. They walked like that, fingers just barely intertwining, and Anton let his mind wander about what this could mean.


	2. Salty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story continues, things can only go up from here right?

Auguste had no room in his heart for love unless it was love for the palate. That is why, Anton said to himself over a private glass of wine, you must move on. The paper before him was complete, his neat writing declaring the fall of another upcoming restaurant. Pitiful, he declared, a meal afraid of entertaining the taste buds of the consumer, unworthy of one let alone three stars. There were many adjectives that could be assigned to such a place, most being synonyms of “dull”. He let the review fall that morning, and he hoped with thinly veiled pleasure that the poor chef who had served him would never cook again. Or, he added when his respect for humanity returned, at least learn what a spice was.

Distractions of course, are only distractions. They do not cure nor remove the issue at hand. Several places that were hardly deserving of praise nor criticism found their way to his lips and cruel hands. Anton paused during one such evening to look down at his meal. It was good, one of the best he had eaten that week, but a based desire to sink his teeth into the throat of anyone who dare entertain the thought of pleasing him took hold and lead him to abandoning the meal with a shrug. “Too salty” He said when pressed by Anita Auburn, a fellow critic, and did not elaborate further.

Anton’s gaze was upturned, A stray beam of moonlight trickled between the curtains, silver and soft, it was the only respite from the blackness within the room and his mind. The clock beside him was nigh illegible in the dark, but he assumed it was some time past midnight. Gusteau’s would be long shut now, and the chef most likely asleep. “as should I be” thought Ego, but alas his game of hunt had only temporarily sated his appetite, which had been wetted by a warm hand against his. That was all it had been, a small motion of Augustes hand against his. Gusteau was a man of small gestures, of soft smiles that caused his eyes to crinkle in a way that only now Anton would call endearing. Of a slow walking pace when walking the streets, of flowers given as a surprise, or a patient ear when Anton spoke. He saved the energy for the kitchen, a place where he could speak the language of the heart fluently. Anton rubbed a hand across his face at the memory; Gusteau spun himself around the kitchen with grace, there was confidence behind every slice of a vegetable, of every tap of the salt shaker. He knew what spices to add and when, and it was only with the clarity of hindsight did Anton understand why he had been so dazzled by these motions.

It is easy to fall in love with someone who expresses it so freely.

Anton rolled over and buried his face into his pillow. There was no denying it now, rather there was only the sorrowful acceptance that Gusteau did not return the desire. Why would he, Anton thought, you offer nothing but your words, of which have torn apart the hearts of weaker men than he, what sort of artist would desire a being seeking to destroy their craft. To chew it up and spit it out for the sake of elevating themselves. destruction came as easy to him as cooking to Gusteau, and he did not have the looks either to redeem his wrathful nature.

So when Gusteau declared Anton handsome as they sat in Anton’s office, He snorted and assured the man otherwise.

“Auguste you are a man of taste,” Said Anton “You don’t need to flatter me for the sake of keeping our friendship”

“It’s not flattery if it’s the truth, mon cher” Was Gusteau’s soft reply, and Anton swallowed thickly.

“What purpose does the truth have, then, if not for flattery” Anton let his smile look as innocent as possible, but he was no fool to his own words, rather he was desirous to hear more on exactly what Gusteau thought of him.

“If I am a man of taste,” He said slowly “Then I want nothing, other than more of you.”

Anton was certain that Gusteaus words were criminal, cruel even, playing directly into his hands and yet still managing to shock his system. And despite the romantic violence of that first phrase, Gusteau dared to continue without sparing a thought to poor Anton’s heart,

“Can I not enjoy the visage of someone who I desire, of someone who gives me a bar to aim for, The challenge you present Anton, with your sharp tongue, leaves me inspired to work harder and create more!”

Gusteau was blind to the fact that Anton had been killed in this very moment, whatever doubts he had had of himself were gone. His heartbeat thrummed with a ferocity that caused him to worry it would fail.

“And, on top of it all, you are handsome too”

Words came easy to the critic when crafting the perfect execution of a chef who dared to assault his senses, or when he wished to sing his praises of a worthy participant in the game of creation and destruction. But the poetry that Gusteau dare use on him left his tongue bound out of fear from breaking the moment. Anton instead reached out and took Gusteaus hand into his, letting his thumb do the talking as it ran across his knuckles. Old scars from kitchen accidents were smooth against his thumb, and Anton found himself drifting further away in thought. He needed to speak, to say something before Gusteau pulled away, He wet his lips, and then woke up.

A golden dawn was reaching across his face and Anton cursed, to deny it now would be shameful.

For most people, dreams vanish as morning dew under the heat of the day. Becoming a thin vapor of memory before being lost altogether. It was simply entertainment of the sleeping mind, a chance for memories to be comprehended and fears to be explored. Anton was no believer in dreams; prophecies or premonitions were ludicrous in concept alone, and often he would turn his nose up and scorn those who did flaunt their so-called dream given foresight. But just this once, he let his heart cling to that dream like a lifeline, as if the hope it had stirred in his chest would allow the fantasy to pass into reality.

As he pondered his next column, pacing his office slowly, he gazed out over Paris. The streets rumbled with activity, evening light calling those at work to conclude their occupations. Like clockwork people streamed the streets, pacing home or to whatever destination awaited them. In less than an hour Gusteau’s would be open, Anton thought, and will come alive with hungry mouths seeking satisfaction.

However, the satisfaction he sought could not be found in a dish. Anton left his office after penning a few ideas down and made his quick way through the crowds, heading directly for Gusteaus. But as he rounded the corner and gazed up at the sign that glowed in the evening light, something gave him pause.

What if I was wrong? He thought, About everything?

Uncertainty was unbecoming of a critic, Fear wormed its pathetic way up his throat. But between the stilted breaths he found the courage needed to knock on those doors.

The kitchen was a flurry of movement, cooks paid him little mind as he stood by the door. Anton waited with hands neatly clasped behind his back until sous chef skinner took notice of him, following which Anton apologized for the interruption.

“I would like to speak to Chef Gusteau if he has a moment,” perhaps he would be turned away, then he could return home and forget it all, and dream of nothing. But his luck would have it that Gusteau was free, if momentarily, and so Anton let himself be lead with a hand on the small of his back into the Chefs office, the shutting of the door being the final nail in his coffin.

“Anton, if you only wish to see me you know you are free to knock on my door any time” Said Gusteau as he placed his toque on the desk. Anton knew he could do just that, in theory, but the action of doing so would be disruptive at best. This was a workplace, not Gusteau’s private home.

“I have a question, Auguste”

“Anton you don’t need to be so formal, sit, rest”

“What do you want from me”

Gusteau paused, and a thickness settled in the air. Anton could feel the tightness in his chest, whatever words Gusteau said next would define their future.

“I don’t know”

Unexpected, Anton would admit, and the cold anger within him jolted to life. He needed this satisfaction, and weather it caused his heart to break was beside the point. Anton needed the peace of mind to move forward. These uncharted waters were rougher than any he had encountered, his thoughts were so tumultuous that when Gusteau reached out to take his hand into his, he did not notice until he felt their fingers interlace.

He stared down at their hands, “I think you do” He said softly, looking up he saw Gusteaus pleading eyes. He found the same uncertainty in his heart reflected there, and finally a path opened itself to Anton.

Anton would be forever glad for the blinds that kept curious eyes from prying into Gusteaus office. Their kiss was soft, delicate, spiced with apprehension yet it was exactly what Anton needed. Nothing would be as delicious as this very moment. He withdrew momentarily, only to hear Gusteau let out a soft sigh, and draw him in again. His hands found their way to his waist, and it was only a knock on the door that caused them to separate violently. Skinner entered, calling for Gusteau’s assistance, and as the chef gave Anton a longing look, the critic bade him farewell, and exited into the cool night.

Sleep did not come easy, he lay there fearing that if he dared close his eyes, he would awaken to find It had been all a dream. But as he let his fingers brush against his lips, he knew it was too real to be a fantasy. Anton had never been so glad to be wrong. Gusteau had space in his heart for him, he was wanted, and it terrified Anton to his core.

\--

If there was one thing that cast a shadow on the nature of their relationship, it was the fact that if word got out, they would be ruined; a scandal to be picked apart for the sake of entertainment at the behest of his co-workers. Anton refused to allow such a thing to occur, and so they could only be found in each other’s arms late in the evenings. they kept up their charade of critic and creator, On the streets they were acquaintances of the haute cuisine world, And if at night they did retire together and lost themselves in soft gasps of “please” against wanting lips, no one was the wiser.

But with time, caution is lost to the wind. Anton bid his farewells to Gusteau on the threshold of his home, sealing the night with a kiss, and it was only after Gusteau was out of sight that Anton noticed his neighbor standing at the door across from him, staring.

He shut his door with a snap, Heart pounding. It was dark, he said to himself, they saw nothing. But despite those assurances, he caught the eye of his neighbor later that week and saw contempt in his gaze.

And when he sat alone in his room, he fell apart.

\--

The first whispers of this new scandal reached Anton’s local newsstand, and he hoped that it would remain simply a whisper. then he found himself defending accusations at every turn. The vile language that seeped into words surrounding the nature of his attractions ate away at chest until finally, he was able to publish his final word on the topic.

“I cannot begin to understand the origins of this rumor, Monsieur Gusteau is but a colleague I had known from my schooling days, following which we became close friends, there is no substance to an accusation created by a single witness, who admittedly saw the incident at night. It would be ideal to dispel these rumors at once, unless my fellow critics desire to transform our paper into place of petty gossip.”

After these words were made, the topic was dropped. Anton caught the eye of his neighbor a few weeks later and saw as they dipped their head in shame. Now things could return to how they once were, Anton thought, but he did not believe it.

Gusteau was accepting of Anton’s lie, albeit begrudgingly, and let Anton rest his head against his chest. Sleep came slowly for the two, but it was comforting to know that finally they were free from scrutiny.

And as Anton drifted off, he hoped that this peace would last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter three will be out soon, hope you enjoyed

**Author's Note:**

> remember to like, comment and subscribe if you want more of this extremely rare pair. i plan to write chapter two sometime soon


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